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Syon
The first impressionof my new secretary—hired at the recommendation of Florey, who had approached me, begging that I take on his niece—was not good. She stood in the library door, by all appearance a poor excuse for an alpha, so young and small that I almost mistook her for a schoolgirl. But no child carried herself like that. A straight back and easy air, dark hair with beautiful violet coloured eyes. To be fair to the youth, she was of medium height, like a beta perhaps, with good shoulders and a bearing that exuded confidence. Then she moved, and I saw the secret to it all. A fencer, no doubt trained by one of the great instructors in an art increasingly less popular. Modern fashions favoured pistols, which took little skill and lacked the sheer power of a sabre in hand. When it came down to it, a quick foot and nimble wrist were as deadly as a long arm and strength. Perhaps when I knew her better, we could cross swords. Yes, the thought pleased me greatly. Even so soon upon meeting her, I wanted to bend this creature to my will.
“Come, girl,” I beckoned her further into my sanctuary. I had no time to beat about the bush. My time was too valuable, and the need for a helping hand too great, for in recent years my eyesight had deteriorated. These days I struggled to keep up with my correspondence without suffering a headache. Not something I wished to broadcast, but which I must accept. “Why’d you want to work with me? Your uncle was keen to put you forward despite your youth and complete lack of experience.”
“Because of my youth and lack of experience, Your Grace,” she said, her voice light yet there was a husky quality. On an omega, it would have been pleasing. Instead, it only added to the small alpha’s irregularities. “My father was Charles Hartwell. Perhaps you know him? If you do, then you know my family’s politics. My chances of a career in politics…”
“Is that your aim, alpha Hartwell?” I asked. Yes, I knew of her family. Her mother was an alpha who could not but be respected and was currently attempting to establish diplomatic relations with the revolutionaries in France. Her father, well, even in death Charles Hartwell could not be ignored. Perhaps her omega father and alpha mother explained why this stripling was not as large as one might expect in an alpha, even a female one.
“Yes,” she confirmed, folding her arms across her chest, her chin tilted as if she didn’t appreciate my prying into her plans.
“And do my politics—”
“I believe in learning every position, Your Grace,” she interrupted, with more coherence than I’d expected since she spoke through gritted teeth. The youth flushed and something inside of me responded to that flair of… What? Embarrassment that could so easily be mistaken for arousal on, say, an omega, which this alpha was not. No omega would dare speak over an alpha in their own home. They might rush their response but never interrupt.
“No need to snap, child,” I warned. “A student of politics then. And staying with your uncle?”
“Yes, Your Grace. I admit I am anxious to keep an eye on my youngest sister, Viola, who is presented this year.”
“I do not need you to explain your domestic arrangements.” Though it was not surprising she’d want to stay close to her omega sibling.
“Of course not. May I ask what tasks… That is if you will take me on.”
“That is the plan. But must you ask what you will do? You shall do whatever fulfils my needs,” I smirked. “But to ease your mind, hot head, you answer my correspondence, letters of business, anything I do not wish to do myself. However, there is a task that, while not of primary importance, must be dealt with. You will do some, ah, research into the Countess Kellingham. I realise that is not what you might normally expect of your duties, but my secretaries are involved with all my business. At present, the Countess is the primary aim. To marry her is my meaning if you can’t parse it.”
“The Countess?“ she frowned as if I belonged in Bedlam. “You wantmeto look into her?”
“What engagements she has, which social events I might meet her at when she comes out of mourning in the next few weeks,“ I continued as if Hartwell hadn’t spoken.
“Your Grace, I should warn you that the Countess is known to me a bit through my aunt. And from suffering omega’s talk…” her lips twisted.
I smiled in sympathy. How could I not? Omegas could prattle on about nothing.
“I know the Countess has forsworn alphas and men. You say your aunt knows her? Use your skills to persuade and convince her to get access. Should you desire to go into politics, tasks less savoury than this will be asked of you. Eventually, you shall ask it of others. Not the wooing of a spouse, but jobs you might normally turn your nose up at. Politics ain’t pretty business but dirty dealings, researching your opponents, and using the knowledge to your advantage. It’s why I hate the whole race of politicians.”
Her eyes flashed. Oh yes, this little alpha would afford me many hours of pleasure.
* * *
Hartwell provoked my temper within a week of her arrival.
“Would you be so kind as to explain to me why I must hunt down my secretary in my own home?” I barked on entering the drawing room.
She scrambled to her feet and attempted but failed to straighten the already poorly tied cravat at her neck. I’d come down to the library after my morning ride to find it empty. No dark head bent over some piece or other of correspondence. No violet eyes glancing up or quick smile before returning to work. Instead, I must find her here lounging at a lady’s writing desk and looking at home. As always, she was peculiarly arranged so that her body sat parallel to the desk, with the paper lying in a similar manner. Her left elbow, for she wrote with that hand, resting on a small book and with her right hand she moved the paper progressively upwards as she wrote. One might think this impeded the flow of her writing but it was not so. Her words appeared on the page with such rapidity that must be witnessed to be believed, and, when it came time to review, there was little to complain of. This was no instant genius, but by her own admission, she would sit in silence, staring at a blank page, deep in thought before beginning. As if she composed the entire piece in her head before committing thoughts to paper. It was probably the only time she paused before forcing her opinions on others. Her mouth was different, words pouring forth like blood from a mortal wound. An alarming experience one could only imagine became easier to understand with time.
“The light was poor. This room is south facing,” she fiddled with her cravat. It was loose so I could not understand how it might bother her. Watching her fidget, it occurred to me that I did not know her scent, and yet there was an underlying hint of pheromones that soothed my temper, a surprise for sure given that Hartwell was an alpha.
“Are there not windows, even a candle, in the library?” I asked after a moment, dumbfounded by this strange change in location. She lay down her pen and tidied the desk.
“There is no economy in using candles when the sun is out. And I couldn’t move the desk on my own. So I asked your butler Horne and came here instead.”
“I can afford whatever candles you might require. Or call a footman to move the desk for you,” I felt like pulling my hair. Surely the Hartwell estate was not so small that they did not use candles in the dead of winter. Unless they wrote so prolifically that they never once needed to use a candle as automatic as it was for them to fill pages with sentiments of liberal passion and righteousness.
”I could not take advantage...” she pressed her lips together. “I am not used to such extravagance. I am used to sitting in the window.”
”Then we can move your desk. It is not such a great thing, little alpha.”
“There are betas shorter than I!” she snapped. “I am… I know I am the wrong height for my dynamic. But please do not call melittlealpha.”
